Taffy Sinclair 009 - The Truth About Taffy Sinclair

by Betsy Haynes

  Looking away again, I began to worry about something else. If Jana really had read my diary, then she would know about all the things I had written about Mona. A shiver crept along my spine. I had only written the truth. And I never meant for anyone to see it, especially not Mona.

  Dear Diary:

  You should have seen how Mona Vaughn looked today. Her clothes were so old and ugly that she looked like a bag lady.

  Well, she did! I thought, as tears spurted into my eyes. It was the truth, but that didn't mean she could help it. It didn't mean she wanted to look that way, either. It just meant that was how she looked!

  I cringed as I remembered another entry I had made a few days later.

  Dear Diary:

  I don't know how Mona Vaughn can stand to be seen in public. Today she had on slacks that must have been three sizes too big and a sweatshirt with a hole in one elbow.

  I'll bet she buys her clothes at the Salvation Army store. What is even worse, she doesn't seem to realize how embarrassing it is for me when people see us together.

  This time my knees got weak. How would I ever explain a thing such as that to Mona? Jana would be just mean enough to show it to her, too, I thought.

  Jumping to attention, I looked back at the spot by the fence where they had been standing a moment before, but now they were gone. I scanned the playground, but I couldn't see them anywhere. How could they have disappeared so quickly? Where did they go?

  I had to find out what was going on, so I closed my notebook and raced toward the building as fast as I could. Maybe Jana had taken Mona to show her where she kept the diary hidden. Maybe it was in her locker or in her desk in the sixth-grade room. Wherever it was, I had to follow them and find out for myself. Somehow I'd have to find a way to keep Mona from reading it and taking sides with The Fabulous Five.

  Hurrying up the front steps, I had just reached out to open the front door when someone lunged in front of me.

  "Hi, Taffy!"

  It was Clarence Marshall, and he had a ridiculous grin on his face and a shock of dingy blond hair hanging in his eyes. As usual, one side of his shirt was tucked into his pants, but the other side was hanging out.

  "Hey, I just heard that you're going to Curtis Trowbridge's party, after all. I think that's great. I'm going, too."

  "Gross," I muttered under my breath, even though I didn't really care if Clarence heard it or not. He was the most obnoxious boy in Mark Twain Elementary, and I wouldn't be the least bit sorry if he got held back and couldn't go on to junior high with the rest of us next year.

  "Would you move?" I asked impatiently. "I need to get inside. It's important."

  "I even heard that Curtis's parents won't be home," he said, completely ignoring the fact that I had asked him to move.

  "Will you get out of my way!" I demanded. "I said I need to get inside the school."

  "It'll cost you a kiss at Curtis's party," he said slyly.

  The instant he said that I shuddered, remembering how he had chased me around Kim Baxter's swimming pool last summer until he caught me and plastered a sloppy kiss on the side of my face. I'd die if he ever did that again.

  "Clarence Marshall, I wouldn't kiss you if you were the last boy on earth. Now, get out of my way before I call Mrs. Winchell."

  Clarence moved, but he was still looking at me with an insolent grin on his face. I pushed past him and hurried into the building and down the hall toward the sixth-grade lockers just as the first bell rang.

  I sighed. I was too late anyway, thanks to Clarence. If Mona and The Fabulous Five had been there, they were already gone.

  I let myself be pushed along by the avalanche of kids that came roaring through the halls as soon as the bell sounded. I hardly even noticed the pushing and shoving and the yelling and screaming as I thought about my diary and the consequences I might face if anyone read it.

  No one would understand. They would think that I was a mean and spiteful person who picked on practically everybody. That wasn't true. In fact, it was the opposite of the truth. Everybody picked on me. Or they would, if I would let them.

  I hurried down the hall, fighting back tears. My mother had said that kids were jealous of me and that I should hold my head up high and act as if it didn't matter, and that's what I always tried to do. Like ignoring it when someone stared at me. Or pretending I didn't hear it when kids whispered behind my back. But even though I did those things just the way she told me, nothing ever seemed to help. Nothing! The truth was, nobody liked me. Nobody except Mona Vaughn, and now because I had written the truth about how she dressed in my private, personal diary, I had probably blown that, too.

  CHAPTER NINE

  If Mona had gotten the chance to read my diary, she didn't give herself away in class. She even smiled at me when she came into the room. I looked again at her patched jeans and faded blouse and felt a rush of guilt over what I had written about her. She had less than any other girl in sixth grade. Why wasn't she jealous of me like everyone else?

  Miss Wiggins jumped up from her desk the second the bell rang. She was smiling so brightly that I wondered for an instant if she was as happy that school was about to be out as we were.

  "Class," she chirped. "This morning we are going to dispense with our regular lessons and do a little housecleaning in preparation for the end of the school year."

  A cheer went up all over the room. We would do practically anything to get out of lessons, even housecleaning.

  Then she pushed two shoe boxes into the center of her desk, pulled off their lids with a ceremonious flourish and announced, "I am going to divide up the chores in a democratic way. In the box on my left"—she paused and pointed to that box—"are all the jobs we need to get done. And in the box on my right"—again she paused, pointing to the appropriate box—"are all of your names. When I pull out a job, I'll also pull out the names of the team who will do it. Now, isn't that fair?"

  Nobody said anything, and a few kids groaned. I wanted to groan, too, but I didn't. It would be just my luck to get stuck with someone like Curtis Trowbridge or Clarence Marshall. I also noticed The Fabulous Five exchanging worried looks. They were so snobby that they would probably die if they didn't get on teams together.

  "The first job," Miss Wiggins went on, "is to straighten the art cabinet."

  That would be easy, I thought, cleaning brushes and throwing away dried-out jars of poster paint. I crossed my fingers that she would call my name, but of course she didn't.

  "Sara Sawyer and Melanie Edwards," she announced.

  Miss Wiggins dug back into the boxfull of jobs and pulled out another one. "The second job is to return material to the Media Center."

  I drummed my fingertips on my desk in boredom while she reached into the other box for names. That was an easy one, too, so of course I wouldn't get it.

  "Randy Kirwan and Taffy Sinclair."

  I jumped straight up in my seat when I heard my name, and my heart jumped even higher. Randy and I? Together? It was too wonderful to be true.

  When I glanced back at Randy to give him a big smile, my gaze was stopped cold by five pairs of eyes. Every member of The Fabulous Five was glaring at me, and if looks could kill, I'd be dead. I didn't care. I gave them my big smile instead and turned around to listen to Miss Wiggins assign the rest of the jobs.

  "Now, you two, this is what I want you to do," she said a few minutes later. Randy and I were side by side at her desk, and I was trying my best to listen, but I couldn't help wondering how we looked standing there together. "There are three stacks of books on the top shelf in the reading corner and several stacks of maps and papers on the table that need to go back to Mrs. Birney in the Media Center. She will know what to do with them. All you have to do is take them to her."

  "Okay, Miss Wiggins, that will be easy," said Randy. Then he grinned at me and added, "I'll carry the books since they're heavier."

  Kids were scurrying all over the room starting their jobs as we loaded up to make our first t
rip to the Media Center. Jana stuck her nose into the air and went to work washing the front chalkboard. I knew that she was just pretending not to see us.

  As soon as we stepped into the hall my heart started to pound. I was totally alone with Randy Kirwan. Our footsteps echoed as we walked along the deserted corridor, and I tried desperately to think of something to say.

  My mind was blank. I couldn't believe such a thing could happen to me. I had never had trouble talking to boys in my life. In fact, boys were the easiest human beings in the world to talk to. It was girls who had always been the problem. But now when it was really important, my brain had turned to Silly Putty.

  I sneaked a quick glance at Randy. He was walking along with that stack of books as if he didn't have a care in the world. I racked my brain, trying to remember all the dumb rules I had ever heard for making conversation with a boy.

  Number one, ask about a school assignment. I couldn't do that. School would be out in a couple of days, and Wiggins had stopped giving assignments.

  Number two, be funny. Tell jokes. Make him laugh. HA! At a time like this? Whoever made up that rule had to be kidding.

  Rule three, compliment him. I swallowed hard. I could tell him how handsome he is. I could . . .

  "Curtis says he has big plans for his party Friday night," said Randy, bringing me crashing back to reality.

  "Really?" I said out loud, but my mind was screaming, The party! Why didn't I think of that? It only took me an instant to recover. "Well, I just hope that some of the rowdy kids don't get into trouble," I said slyly.

  "Why do you say that?" asked Randy.

  "Clarence Marshall says that Curtis's parents aren't going to be home." I laughed nervously.

  Randy turned his big blue eyes on me for a moment, and my heart almost stopped. Was he going to say something about our being together at the party? Or even being alone together now that he knew Curtis's parents wouldn't be snooping around?

  Shaking his head, he said, "Don't pay any attention to Clarence. You know how he is. He's always making up things to get attention. Alexis even said he's been going around telling all the girls that he wants to kiss them at Curtis's party. He's probably even said it to you."

  I nodded and fought down a blush. This conversation wasn't going the way I wanted it to. I would have to think of another approach to get Randy to say something about our being together Friday night.

  We had reached the Media Center, and Randy balanced his stack of books on one arm and opened the door for me. He was so polite. Not like some guys who were icky polite. Curtis Trowbridge, to mention one person in particular. Randy just did nice things for people as if they came natural to him.

  After we left the things with Mrs. Birney and headed back to the sixth-grade room, my mind was whirring as I went over the rules for making conversation with a boy again. I might never get a more perfect opportunity, and there were only enough books and papers left for one more trip to the Media Center. The only trouble was, even if I thought of the perfect thing to say, it probably wouldn't do any good. Randy liked Jana. Everybody knew that, and whenever I closed my eyes and saw his face, hers was always there, too, making me miserable. Sometimes, when I was feeling especially miserable, I would write about it in my diary.

  Dear Diary:

  Today Randy took Jana to Mama Mia's for pizza after the football game. He didn't just sit with her when he got there. He asked her ahead of time, so it was a real date. And to make matters worse, everybody was there and saw them together.

  Dear Diary:

  It's Saturday night, and I'm really depressed. I thought this time I had broken up Randy and Jana for sure. I thought I had fixed things so that he would ask me for a date to go to the movies with the rest of the gang. I was wrong. He asked her instead. They are together at this very minute and I'm home alone.

  Dear Diary:

  Randy Kirwan is the most wonderful boy in the world, but I don't understand why he likes Jana instead of me. I talk to him all the time to let him know how much I like him. I smile at him. What else can I do to make him see that it's me, not Jana, who is the perfect girl for him?

  Just as we reached the classroom door, I got a brilliant idea. Randy liked to do nice things for people. It just came natural. Of course. That was it. I would ask him to do me a favor. And I had the perfect favor to ask him. I would have to stretch the truth a little, but it would be worth it. And if I worked it just right, he'd never be able to say no.

  We loaded up with books and papers and started down the hall again. I took a deep breath to get up my nerve.

  "You were right about Clarence wanting to kiss me," I began shyly. "In fact . . ." I let my voice trail off as if I couldn't stand to say any more.

  Randy frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "I haven't told anyone," I whispered. "Clarence is such a bully. But he's always following me after school. And trying to kiss me when no one's around."

  "That creep." Randy stopped dead in his tracks. "Wait until I get my hands on him!"

  "Oh, no. Don't tell him that I told you. He'll be really mad at me."

  Randy stood there for a moment, and I could tell that he was thinking over what I had said. I could hardly breathe as I waited to see if my plan had worked.

  "Okay," he said. "I won't tell him, but meet me by the front door after school. I'll walk you home, and I'll do it every day until school is out. Let's see Clarence try anything when I'm with you."

  My feet didn't touch the floor all the way to the Media Center and back. It had worked! Randy was going to walk me home from school for the rest of the week. Surely by the party Friday night he'd be my boyfriend instead of Jana Morgan's. I would take him away from her if it was the last thing I ever did, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "Jana and the others say they don't have your diary," said Mona when I met her in the girls' bathroom during morning recess.

  "Ha!" I scoffed. "What did I tell you? They won't admit it to you because they know you and I are friends."

  "Are you really sure they have it? What if they're telling the truth? I'll bet someone else has it and is planning to give it back."

  "Of course I'm sure they have it," I insisted. "Who else would keep it hidden all this time? Anyone else would have given it back a long time ago."

  Mona shrugged and looked dejected.

  "That's okay, Mona. You tried." I made my voice sound as sad as possible. "I'll just have to think of something before it's too late."

  "What do you mean, 'before it's too late'?"

  "Oh, I was just thinking that they are probably planning something. Something awful . . . like reading my diary out loud at Curtis's party Friday night."

  I could see from the look on Mona's face that she was surprised. "They wouldn't do a thing like that. Would they?"

  "Not to you," I said. "Or to anybody else except me. You know how much they hate me. They always have. And now that I'm probably going to get that part in the television commercial, they hate me more than ever."

  Mona was quiet for a moment. "Let me talk to them again. If they have your diary, I'll find out this time. I promise."

  After Mona left, I put my elbows on the shelf above the sinks and stared at myself in the mirror. Was it possible that Jana and her friends really didn't have my diary? It would have been a lucky break for them if it had landed in one of their lockers during the mix-up. But there were twenty-one other kids in Miss Wiggins's sixth-grade class, twenty if I didn't count myself, who could have gotten that diary just as easily as one of The Fabulous Five.

  In my mind I went down each row in the classroom looking for possibilities. Kids who would have a reason to keep my diary. Matt Zeboski—no. Gloria Drexler—no. Sara Sawyer—probably not. We weren't great friends, but we weren't big enemies, either. Keith Masterson—no. Wait a minute, I thought. Keith and Joel and Richie were the ones who messed up the lockers. Maybe one of them had it. They were always playing jokes on people
. I made a mental note that the three of them were suspects, and then went on down the rows. Of course every one of The Fabulous Five had to be counted. Alexis and Kim and Lisa were maybe's along with Sara.

  Suddenly I thought about Mona. She was the one who had actually taken the money from Miss Wiggins's wallet. Besides that, she had more to gain than anybody from reading my diary. Wasn't she always following me around and trying to be friends? Wasn't she the homeliest girl in the sixth grade? It made sense that she might want my diary to try to find out my secrets. Not my personal secrets, like everyone else, but my beauty secrets!

  I smiled at my reflection in the mirror. Maybe that's why she was so sure that I was going to get it back. I remembered her words: I'll bet someone else has it and is planning to give it back. She's only going to keep it for a little while. Just long enough to read it. Oh, my gosh, I thought. If she has it, she won't find what she expects to find in it.

  I stood there for another couple of minutes, thinking over the situation. In some ways Mona was the obvious one, since she had stolen something before. But on the other hand, if Mona had it, she would have opened it by now, and she certainly wouldn't be acting so friendly to me if she had read it. Jana and her friends had to be the ones. They have my diary, I thought. That's all there is to it.

  Even though recess was almost over, I sauntered out onto the playground. The weather had turned warm and most kids were just sitting around in groups talking instead of running and playing. Even the sixth-grade boys were standing quietly beside the ball diamond. I looked at Randy. He was so handsome standing there talking to his friends. I wondered if he would tell any of them that he was walking me home after school to protect me from Clarence Marshall. Probably not. He never bragged about himself, but the thought made me tingle with anticipation, anyway. It was hours and hours until school was out for the day. How could I stand it until then?